Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
CHAPTER SEVEN
RYAN
The air in the private back room of the steakhouse is thick with the smell of charred ribeye and expensive bourbon. It’s the setting for the Seattle Knights’ mid-season team dinner, an event that usually feels like a mandatory sentence in hell. But tonight, the weight in my chest isn't dread. It’s anticipation, sharp and humming like a live wire.
I adjust my cuff links, the silver cold against my skin. Beside me, Rory is a vision in emerald silk that clings to her stunning curves.
I’ve spent every spare second with her these last couple of weeks. If I’m not with her, we’re texting. Even at three a.m. when I should be passed out, I wake up to check my phone, and there’s another message from her that knocks the wind out of me. Sometimes it’s just a sarcastic meme; sometimes it’s her telling me about the latest reality TV show she watched. Doesn’t matter. I hang on every word.
She’s got me completely hooked, and I fucking don’t care. Not one bit. This weekend is the real test, the Fox Family barbecue.
"You look like you’re facing the firing squad." Rory cuts into my inner turmoil, her voice a velvet friction against the low roar of the room. She brushes an invisible speck of lint from my lapel, her fingers lingering just long enough to make my pulse stutter.
"I hate these fucking shindigs," I grumble, looking down at her. Her eyes are impossibly blue under the chandelier light, bright and sharp and seeing right through me. “I’d rather be at home watching bad reality TV with you.”
"That stuff will rot your mind," she says, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Don’t worry, we’ll get through the night. Then we can head back to my place to watch all the reality TV."
Jaxson is the first to intercept us, clutching a glass of scotch and looking more tired than usual. Harper is tucked under his arm, her pregnant belly a prominent curve under her maternity dress. She looks radiant, but Jaxson looks like he’s hovering on the edge of a panic attack.
“Ryan, I’m glad you guys finally got here,” Harper says, her eyes doing a quick scan from my face to Rory’s, then back again. She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand to Rory. “I’m Harper, Ryan’s sister. And this is my husband, Jaxson.”
Rory shakes my sister’s hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
While the two women chatter like they’ve been friends forever, Jaxson mutters to me, “She’s really nice. Don’t fuck this up.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
Jaxson gives me a look that would make a lesser man cower, but it doesn’t faze me. Our rivalry goes way back. Before he fell for my sister, we were out for each other’s throats on and off the ice. I stare back at the fucker without backing down.
Now that we’re family. It isn’t always easy to play nice, but I’m giving it my best.
Harper notices our silent pissing contest and rolls her eyes. “Boys, please. Put the big dick energy away.”
Jaxson leans close to Harper and whispers loud enough for us to hear, “But you like all my big dick.”
I make my usual gagging noise as Rory laughs. “It’s time for me to introduce Rory around.” I place my hand on her lower back, and electricity flows down my spine. My cock grows hard, and I button my suit jacket to hide the evidence of what Rory does to me.
We move through the crowd, and I watch Rory work the room like she was born for it. She doesn't have the practiced, brittle smile of some of the other wives who are trying too hard to maintain a brand. She’s effortless. She asks Miller about his new dog and listens to the backup goalie’s wife talk about her architecture firm with genuine interest. She doesn't just take up space; she creates it.
I find myself standing back a bit, just watching her. Fuck. I’m so far gone over her, it isn’t even funny.
The rest of the dinner is a blur of expensive steak and polite conversation, but I’m barely present. My entire world has narrowed down to the warmth of Rory’s body next to mine and the way her thumb occasionally grazes the back of my hand under the table. By the time we say our goodbyes and head to the valet, the cool Seattle air feels like a shock to the system.
The drive back to her apartment is quiet. The city lights smear across the windshield in long, neon streaks of rain and electricity. I keep one hand on the wheel and the other on the center console, inches away from hers. The tension in the car is thick, a physical weight that makes it hard to breathe.
"Come back to my place," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "I don't want to say goodnight yet."